It was too foolish.
And yet he had been so determined this morning, before he went to Gawaine's; and while he was there something had taken hold of him and made him gallop back.

It seemed he couldn't quite depend on his own resolution, as he had thought he could; he almost wished his arm would get painful again, and then he should think of nothing but the comfort it would be to get rid of the pain.

There was no knowing what impulse might seize him to-morrow, in this confounded place, where there was nothing to occupy him imperiously through the livelong day.

What could he do to secure himself from any more of this folly?
There was but one resource.

He would go and tell Irwine--tell him everything.